Garten literarischer Wirrungen / Garden of Literary Confusion

 

So I was on my way to the store close-by, only to find out, once I got there, that it was closed. Well hell, I thought, that saved me som...

Avoid that lad named Sammy – you've felt his hands – they're clammy. Staying away from him makes triple sense because he is als...

I Hotels talk! Noise, noise & life. Ah, love! II Never fight a keed. Exhaustion, work & love. III Where is the wiry bu...

Love is a dark truck. Why does the hood work? – Iself Created with the help of the Poem Generator . I clicked on the Make Poem button ...

The nosobeme prances on its quadruple nose. Accompanying it dances its child, also on four of those. In Britannica it has no mention, ...

Thank you, my love, I forgive you not – you gave me ink in that old pot. But on a cold day like this it won’t make me hot. – Felix Mor...

In my backyard I found a tart. Says Jay, “Pray tell, you might as well, what will you do with it?” “Whip cream, you nit, put it on ...

I quit for abundance of wit And you quit because you are a nit So there! – Felix Morgenstern For Sunday Scribblings .

I call you on the telephone: Good morning! – How are you, my dear? I’m listening to your voice’s tone. It’s lovely, soothing and so very cle...

The snail with its stalked eye spied a boot which was walking by. “Oh no,” he thought (or she), “this big loud thing is bound to bring death...

The wingambat The wingambat haunteth through weerowarowood, the ruby fingoor taunteth, and cruelly laughs the drood. – Christian Morgenstern...

I killed a poetry machine Oh what shall we do, that thing it is dead – a poetry machine, the best ever had. It mixed black with blue, it str...